Keepsake

Megan hadn’t seen Alex in over a year—not since the day they signed the divorce papers. She thought they had both moved on, leaving behind the ten years they spent together. But life has a funny way of bringing the past back when you least expect it.

It started with a phone call.

“Hi, Megan,” Alex’s voice was familiar but tentative. “I found something while clearing out the attic. I think you’ll want to see it.”

Megan hesitated. The years of love and the painful end flashed through her mind. “What is it?”

“Just… meet me at the park. You’ll understand.”

The park was where they’d first met, two strangers colliding on a late spring afternoon. She arrived to find Alex sitting on their old bench, a small wooden box resting on his lap.

“Hey,” he said softly, standing as she approached.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice tinged with both warmth and caution.

Alex gestured to the box. “Do you remember this?”

Megan’s breath caught. It was the time capsule they’d made during their first year together, a playful promise to their future selves. They had filled it with mementos, sealing it with the intention of opening it after ten years. But life had gotten in the way, and the capsule had been forgotten—until now.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” Megan said, sitting beside him.

Alex chuckled. “Barely remembered it myself. Found it under a pile of old clothes.”

They opened the box together, the scent of old paper and wood rising to meet them. Inside were small relics of their early love: concert tickets, polaroids, and a keychain from their first road trip.

Megan pulled out a dried daisy, carefully pressed between two pieces of paper. “Our first date,” she said, her voice soft. “You picked this from the park garden and gave it to me.”

“And you laughed because it was half-wilted,” Alex added, smiling. “Said you preferred things with character.”

They sifted through the rest of the items, each object unlocking a memory. A matchbook from the café where they spent countless Sundays, a tiny ceramic bird Alex had bought on a whim because Megan loved sparrows, and a scribbled note that read, “Don’t forget: Pizza Friday!”

Finally, at the bottom of the box, they found a small, worn book titled A Year of Us. It was a journal they’d kept together, documenting their first year as a couple. They took turns flipping through its pages, reading aloud entries filled with inside jokes, arguments over movie choices, and dreams for the future.

One entry caught their attention:

May 5th

We promised to always come back to this park. No matter what happens, this place will always be our beginning.

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of the words settling over them.

“I guess we kept that promise,” Megan said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alex nodded. “Funny how life circles back.”

They talked for hours, not as ex-spouses but as two people who once shared something profound. They laughed at their younger selves, mourned the things they’d lost, and celebrated the memories that still made them smile.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the park, Alex turned to Megan. “You know, I don’t regret any of it. Not the good or the bad. It made us who we are.”

Megan smiled, her eyes glistening. “Neither do I. We had something real, even if it didn’t last forever.”

They closed the box and sat quietly, watching the sun dip below the horizon. In that moment, they weren’t defined by their divorce or the pain of their past. They were simply two people, connected by the love they once had and the memories they would always share.

As they parted ways that evening, both felt a sense of closure—not the kind that ends a chapter, but the kind that brings peace to it.